


Hanged Men and Angels

by GillyTweed



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, How Molly meets Yasha, Injured Yasha, Pre-Series, Yasha's childhood was not fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillyTweed/pseuds/GillyTweed
Summary: A young woman knelt in chains, crimson blood pooling around her knees. It dripped down her arms from where her wrists were bound by manacles, the metal having worn into the skin. Her head hung against her chest, dark hair falling to cover her face. A man stood behind her, hands bloody and eyes wide in shock.Molly stepped into the mill slowly, shoulders hunched as he held his swords ready at his sides. His thoughts raced and a foreign anger crawling up his throat. There was no conceivable reason he could think of that would justify this.





	Hanged Men and Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Whoop whoop, finished another one. This time around it’s an AU about how Molly met Yasha. I see so many fics making Molly the one who’s suffering so I decided to switch it up a bit. Feel free to see it as shipping, but personally I see them having a close sibling vibe.

It was interesting what one came across when you travelled everywhere. Small town, large city, tiny settlement that couldn’t even be called a hamlet, they all had secrets. Some were boring, like the typical “Miller cheated with the Farmer’s daughter,” others were unsurprising like “Young Nobleman dead after being far too involved with the local crime,” and then there was this town. A small close knit town a ways down south. Seemed normal enough, a few odd characters here and there on the road, but really who was he to judge. However, the closer they moved towards the town, the more uneasy he grew.

“Molly, when we get in take Bosin and get a replacement wheel for the cart.” Desmond strode by, barking out orders to everyone he passed. Molly simply exchanged glances with Bosin and nodded. It wasn’t an unreasonable order, if delivered a little sharply. One of the carts back wheels had been damaged when they’d road over some particularly rough terrain, and at best it looked like it would survive a few more miles before properly breaking, thus getting a replacement before the inevitable would be wise.

Once they’d set up camp, the large carnival tent looming tall, he and Bosin made their way further into town. The unease grew, feeling like a tightness in his chest and a slight shake in his limbs. He hid it behind his usual swagger and grin, but he couldn’t help how his eyes darted everywhere, the need to be cautious pressing on his mind.

He stayed near Bosin, asking around the small market square until they, with some difficulty and wary looks, managed to find the only wainwright in town. The man lived almost on the very edge of the settlement, only a road away from farmland and the local lumber mill, but as he and Bosin continued with their task the tightness in his chest grew, almost becoming a tugging that pushed him forward.

They came to the wainwrights workshop, a large building that almost resembled a barn with a bold hanging sign that declared the shops name and services. A ways past it, a bridge arched over a twisting river, the road curving around a gnarled old oak tree, before stopping at the doors to the lumber mill.

The sight of the building made him pause, making Bosin swerve with a huff to avoid running into him. The half-Orc looked at him for a moment, debating whether he should ask, but instead turned with a sigh, pushing into the shop and leaving the Tiefling alone.

Leaning against the short fence that ringed the workshops front yard, he took out his cards and began to shuffle. The urge to keep his hands busy was overwhelming as he looked at the lumber mill. He shuffled the cards several ways, eyes never leaving the lumber mill. It was like any other mill, a large wheel turned by the roaring waters of the river, tall sturdy supports, nothing remarkable whatsoever, but it intrigued him.

“Molly,” Bosin’s voice jolted him from his thoughts, two cards slipping from his fingers and fluttering to the ground. “Got the wheel, lets go.” Bosin didn’t wait as he hefted the new wheel over his shoulder and began walking. Molly bent and scooped up his cards, pausing for a moment to check what they were.

The Angel and the Hanged-man.

* * *

Molly couldn’t sit still as the Carnival began. His leg bounced as he read fortunes, his smile a little more forced than usual whenever the Angel or the Hanged-man was drawn. Even Orna commented on his odd behaviour, which he waved off like everyone else’s inquiries.

The tightness in his chest hadn’t eased, instead it had grown worse. It was like a tugging on his lungs, hooking on his ribs as it tried to pull him with great urgency. He had a hunch about where it wanted him to go, and as soon as the last of the evening’s patrons were through the entrance, he was off.

This late at night, the town square was essentially empty, just two of the local guard on patrol and a few alley cats skulking in the shadows. It was rather simple slipping past, staying just out of the lights reach as he skirted the edges of buildings and darted between patches of darkness. The rest of the streets were similarly quiet, a guard or two, maybe a night creature, but nothing more. No candles flickered in cottage windows, and the hanging lamps at each street corner were weak and guttering. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that the local folk had fled, leaving their homes empty and abandoned.

Despite the easy travel, the way to the wainwrights felt far longer than it had that morning. Maybe it was because of his sense of urgency, or the slow closing of his throat, but the time seemed to stretch on forever as the moon slowly ascended in the sky, casting silver shadows across the ground.

When he did finally reach the workshop, equally silent like the rest of the town, the tightness eased and for the first time that night he managed to take a deep, shaky, breath. The tugging continued, more gently now, almost like a guiding hand resting on the small of his back, directing him further down the road, over the bridge, and up to the doors of the lumber mill.

A flickering light shone from beneath the door. Odd, considering the rest of the town was eerily dark. Pressing close to the door, he tried to hear if anyone was inside. It was quiet, the only sounds being the rustling of the wind in the trees.

Then a piercing scream of pain had him jerking back.

Hands on his scimitars handles, he slunk around the side searching for a window, and attempted to peek inside when he found one. The glass was far too dirty to properly see through, coated in dirt and sawdust, but shadows moved across the space, intangible and imposing. Swallowing, he scrubbed away the dirt in one small corner, allowing for a slightly clearer view.

Inside there was the expected equipment, the smudged outline of the large table saws and lumber piled on the far wall. In the middle of the room were two figures, one kneeling and restrained by chains that stretched their arms out and away from their body, the other one tall and muscled as they circled the other predatorily. He couldn’t discern the sex of either, the glass still too filthy to see much detail.

He flinched when the standing figures hand darted out, grabbing something on the kneeling ones back and yanking, drawing another agonizing scream. He felt the tugging in his chest again, like claws digging deep into his flesh were pulling him back towards the entrance. He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing until he’d pulled open the mill doors and drawn his blades.

Now properly able to see the situation, his breath caught in his throat.

A young woman knelt in chains, crimson blood pooling around her knees. It dripped down her arms from where her wrists were bound by manacles, the metal having worn into the skin. Her head hung against her chest, dark hair falling to cover her face. A man stood behind her, hands bloody and eyes wide in shock.

Molly stepped into the mill slowly, shoulders hunched as he held his swords ready at his sides. His thoughts raced and a foreign anger crawling up his throat. There was no conceivable reason he could think of that would justify this.

Finally coming to stand in front of the woman, he could see the resemblance between the two. Sharp features, pale skin, and dark hair, although now he could see the black faded into white in the long hair of the woman. He felt the skin of his face and chest burn with rage

“Is this your daughter?” The man was far too old to be her brother and the physical similarities were undeniable. The man swallowed visibly, his eyes never leaving the tiefling and his glinting blades.

“Is this what you do to your family?” Molly stepped forward, raising his swords to a more threatening stance. He didn’t remember his birth family, but the very thought of someone hurting anyone at the Carnival, his new family, made his blood boil. To hurt someone you were supposed to love and cherish was unthinkable to him.

The man turned quickly, lunging for one of the axes hanging on the wall. Molly, lifted his swords to defend, but darted forward, nearly slipping on the slick floor, when the man swung towards the chained woman.

He managed to swipe the axe away with one of his swords just before it hit the woman’s back, and with another swing the handle was sliced through. The metal head fell with a thud as a spray of fresh blood splattered on the floor. The man tumbled back, falling and slumping against the wall as blood bubbled and dripped from his mouth.

Molly didn’t move, blades at the ready until the man stopped twitching, body going limp. Lowering his swords, he looked down, surprised to see two different coloured eyes looking up at him, one green and the other a soft lavender, both clouded with pain. Suddenly the adrenaline seemed to drain out of him, now replaced with worry and concern.

Licking his lips nervously, he sheathed his blades and knelt down so they were eye level. Closer now, she seemed younger, more a girl than a fully grown woman. Bringing his hand up to brush hair away from her eyes, he felt pity squeeze his heart when she flinched away from his touch.

“Hello,” He spoke softly, like he would when Toya came to him after a bad dream. “My name’s Molly.” The girl remained silent as he looked at the chains binding her wrists, the skin torn and bleeding from the harsh metal. “Let’s get you out of these, hm?”

More silence as he glanced around quickly for the keys before drawing a lockpick from one of his coats many pockets. It took a few moments of careful maneuvering but the lock came undone easily enough with a soft click before the cuff fell open.

The girl let out a pained breath, wet sounding like she was close to tears, as he carefully removed the cuff and helped her tuck her arm tight against her body. He was surprised she wasn’t in tears already, considering the blood and obvious agony.

The other cuff came off with the same amount of ease and the girl practically collapses against him once she was free. His arms circled her torso instinctively, but he was quick to lift them from her back when she let out a pitiful whimper of pain. His breath caught at the mess of bloody feathers that came away on his hand, everything clicking into place.

She was an Aasimar.

“Oh you poor thing,” He murmured softly as he adjusted his hold on her to offer more support. One of his hands found her hair, fingers running through it in slow gentle strokes. She slumped against him, her body growing limp as she gave in to her obvious exhaustion. When he pulled away, tilting her head just a little to see her face, she looked barely conscious, eyes glassy and half lidded.

“I’m going to get you out of here, alright?” She gave an almost imperceptible nod in response as she struggled to remain in the waking world. “Can you tell me your name?”

She blinked up at him, then managed to breath out “Yasha” before her eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing evened as she fell into unconsciousness, and Molly heaved a deep sigh as he tugged her on to his back, realizing how tall she was as her feet brushed the ground. He wasn’t a particularly strong man, but he was determined not to leave the poor girl. Groaning with effort, he stood, bouncing a little until she settled more comfortably, then without looking back at the gruesome interior of the mill, slipped out the door.

* * *

Returning to the Carnival took a long while, needing to take time to rest as well as waiting for the perfect moments to dart past any wandering guards, but he managed. He could still hear the show going when he made it back to camp, the sound of objects being crushed and broken telling him it was nearing its end.

Being as gentle as he could, Molly hoisted Yasha into the bed of the main cart and up onto the cot Gustav generally slept on, laying her on her stomach so she wasn’t pressing on her wounds. He pulled out the Carnival’s healer’s kit from under the cot, tossing the lid open and grimacing at the lack of supplies within. There were a few bandages and a pot of salve, but that was it.

Looking Yasha over, he winced at the mess that was her back. Bloody and broken clumps of feathers, torn skin, and what looked like the small shafts of growing feathers littered her shoulder blades. Her head rested on a lumpy pillow, her face turned towards him. Even in sleep her face was creased with pain, eyes flickering restlessly under their lids.

Sitting for a moment, he gathered himself. First, he needed to get rid of the blood, then he could worry about tending the wounds.

Grabbing a bowl of water and cloth, he set about wiping away the bloody mess. For the first bit, the cloth would catch on the broken feather shafts, making Yasha whimper in pain and him feel a stab of guilt. He quickly realised that following the direction of the feathers caused the least pain, and clumps of blood and feathers soon came away, falling to the floor in limp piles.

He was half way done when Gustav hopped up into the cart, the man paused at the bloody sight before him. “Do I want to ask?” He simply sounded tired when he spoke, resigned more than anything.

“Probably not,” Molly shrugged as he got back to work, making more feather clumps fall. Gustav sighed, grinding his palms into his eyes before dragging his hands down his face.

“I’ll go get Orna.”

* * *

Molly sat with his back resting against Yasha’s cot, listening to the soothing rhythm of her breathing as he shuffled his cards idly. She’d fallen in and out of consciousness over the last couple days, but she looked better than the night he’d found her. While still pale, her skin was cleaned of blood, and the broken feathers had been removed.

The feathers that had managed to survive where small and soft, downy and newly grown. That, along with the scars that littered her skin, told him that what he’d stumbled upon hadn’t been the first time. The thought made his skin crawl with anger, and for a moment he wished he’d left the man alive, simply so he could go make his death far more agonizing.

A small groan had him turning, a small smile quirking his lips when he saw Yasha’s eyes open. Her gaze was unfocused for a few moments, but sharpened when she let out a small cough, the jolt shifting her back.

“How do you feel?” Molly asked, keeping his voice soft and movements relaxed.

“Awful,” The answer was blunt, her voice a croaking groan. “Like someone ripped my back open.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Molly shifted onto his knees so he could get a better look at Yasha’s back. He and Orna had decided against bandages, not wanting to accidentally damage the remaining feathers, so instead they’d soaked cloths in water mixed with the last of the salve and laid them over the wounds. “But I think you’ll live.”

That drew a soft huffing laugh from her, then a groan as her back shifted. He sighed empathetically as he adjusted the cloths. It would take a long while for her to heal, the only issue being with whom.

“Do you have anyone in town that could help you?” She stiffened at his question, her lavender eye gazed at him critically. He could practically see her mind turning as she tried to find the meaning behind his question.

“It was a public mill.” She replied, promptly turning her head away from him, but it was all he needed to know. If the mill was public then anyone could use it, meaning the entire town probably had known what had been happening yet had done nothing. He was suddenly very glad they were leaving soon.

This girl had no one, much like him when he’d woken weak and ill on the side of the road, memory gone other than the whisper of his name. The Carnival had shown him kindness, so he was determined to pass the kindness on.

“Well then, I guess-” He was interrupted by the appearance of Orna hopping into the cart, her face stony.

“Guards are coming from the town. Do we need to hide her?” Yasha turned back to look at them both, gaze wary, and slightly fearful if he had to guess. Molly watched her for a moment, chewing his lip. The guards would be looking for her, and if they were caught the entire Carnival would be in deep shit.

“Ah fuck it,” He huffed a sigh and properly stood, stepping over to the large chest where they stored the performance tents canvas. “In here.” Orna considered him for a moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously, then nodded.

He began shifting the canvas to create a sort of nest for Yasha to lay in while Orna helped her sit up and don a large shirt that had been graciously donated by Bosin. Together they helped the tall girl stand and shuffle over to the chest, easing her down as gently as they could. Yasha held in her pain well, only letting out soft grunts and gasps. She groaned tiredly once she’d been settled in the canvas, curled with her knees tucked up against her chest. It was a tight space, but it would have to do.

“I’m going to cover you as best I can. Don’t move until we tell you, even if we open the lid got it?” Molly waited for her to nod, then began covering her in layer upon layer of fabric until it looked just as it had before. Finally, he stuffed his coin purse in one of the chests corners near her feet, closing the lid just as a guard clambered up into the cart. His weight made it shake, armour clanking as they swayed side to side.

“Oi, what’s in there?” His voice drew another guard over, the man peering in over the carts edge. “Open it up.”

Molly tried not to let his nervousness show. Glancing back at Orna, he saw her perched on the bed, space miraculously clear of the medical supplies they’d been using. Silently sending a thankful prayer to the heavens, he began stuttering out an excuse, trying to remember all he’d ever learned about redirection and trickery.

“Well, I- you see gentlemen, I hardly think you need to-”

“Oh we need to, we’re investigating a murder, and nothing is to be overlooked.” The guards gaze hardened, eyes glinting.

Molly fumbled with words for a moment, then he heaved a sigh, making it sound like he’d been caught red handed. He turned with slow shuffling steps and lifted the chests lid fully to reveal the mass of canvas. “We use this to store the tent, but I-” He reached down and grabbed the coin purse, hand gently brushing Yasha’s foot.

He hefted the bag, the coins clinking within. He smiled sheepishly and the guard rolled his eyes with a huff, interest now lost. He did a cursory scan of cart, eyeing the two Carnies before turning on his heel and hopping down. Once they were gone, both he and Orna let out relieved sighs.

In case he needed to repeat the act, he returned the coin purse to the chest, resting his fingers on Yasha’s ankle gently. “Stay in here until I come back, we’ll handle this.” He felt the touch of fingers on his wrist, gentle, like she was trying to convey a million things in the brief moment of contact before he drew his hand away.

* * *

 

They’d been delayed in leaving for a few hours, but once they were on the road and several miles from the town, Molly lifted the chests lid and shifted the canvas aside. He couldn’t help but smile when Yasha’s face was revealed, relaxed and soft in restful sleep. Once again, she reminded him of Toya, someone who needed care and protection. Until she was healed at least.

He’d saw and felt her muscles as he’d tended to her. There was little doubt that she was strong and capable, simply weak from her injuries. A little time and she’d be back on her feet, able to do who knows what. The signs of her strength meant it was no doubt impressive, and he was sure she’d fit right in if she decided to stay.

‘Maybe she’d want to join the Carnival as a strong woman?’ He thought to himself idly, setting the chests lid off to the side before settling on the bed. He wasn’t foolish enough to try and move her on his own, so it was best that he left her to sleep.

* * *

 

His fingers brushed through newly grown feathers carefully, applying salve to the last of the healing scars. He felt Yasha shiver under his touch, hunching a little bit away, then straightening to allow him to continue. He shuffled a little bit closer on the bedroll, his crossed legs almost pressed against her back. Flickering candle light filled their tent, allowing him to find the places without salve rather easily.

After a good month on the road, Yasha had healed well. The wounds had closed, leaving raised ridges of knotted scar tissue, but her feathers had grown back to create a soft dark covering on her shoulders. Some places were a bit patchy where the scars were a bit too thick, but overall they were barely noticeable with how densely the rest of the feathers had grown in.

Once he was done, he patted her shoulder gently then moved to put away the healing supplies. As he did so, Yasha slipped her shirt back on, then her cloak. He’d discovered she was much the opposite of him. Quiet and prefered to cover her oddities where as he was loud and proud about his own. It was an interesting dynamic, but one that worked well, or at least he thought so.

“Shall we go get dinner?” He asked as he stretched, making his back pop deliciously. Yasha nodded, heaving a deep sigh as she stood, then pulled him to his feet. They’d started sharing a tent a week or so after they’d left her hometown, a good arrangement considering it seemed like Yasha was the only one besides Toya who could handle Molly’s presence for such a long period of time.

They slipped out of the tent after putting out the candle, and joined everyone else around the evening fire. A spiced stew was bubbling over the flames, the strong smell making his stomach grumble in want. Without a word they sat down on any spots available, squishing onto the two logs that Bosin and Yasha had dragged over earlier in the evening.

Molly smiled as Toya skipped over to Yasha, who smiled kindly as Toya began chattering softly then clapped happily when Yasha allowed her to braid her hair. He’d been right when he thought that she’d fit right in. Toya had taken to her almost immediately, and the rest quickly followed, even Desmond had seemed to like her, or at least tolerated her better than he did Molly.

Taking out his deck of cards, he began shuffling, letting the action soothe him as he reveled in the feeling of being surrounded by his family. A strange family, but family nonetheless. He felt relaxed and protected with no need to worry knowing that they all had his back. They took care of their own after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> come hit me up on tumblr @GillyTweed


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